


The Latina L1 With the Latin Tattoo

by AudreyV



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, F/F, Femslash, First Time, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Secret Relationship, Tattoos, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyV/pseuds/AudreyV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you don’t want to talk about Frank, why am I here?”</p><p>“Can’t it just be that I like having drinks with you?”</p><p>Bonnie seems to consider this for a moment before shaking her head.  “Not a chance,” she says, face breaking into an easy, genuine smile. “You want something.  But that’s okay.  I’ll get it out of you eventually.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Latina L1 With the Latin Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the femslash kink meme 2015 for the prompt "Bonnie/Laurel, secret tattoo."

“Look, I’m not complaining. I just don’t get why you keep asking me to drinks.” Bonnie signals to the bartender for another round. “This has got to be costing you a fortune.”

“I like spending my dad’s money on things he wouldn’t approve of,” Laurel replies, a particularly wicked grin on her face. 

“Cheers to Papa Castillo, then. I’ll drink as many top shelf whiskeys as you want to buy me, but I’m still not going to spill about Frank.”

“Yeah, fight club, whatever.”

Bonnie catches Laurel's tone and grimaces. “I see. What did he do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m guessing either you caught him looking at gay porn or he said something idiotic about feminism.” Bonnie leans toward Laurel conspiratorially. "And if it's the first one, it's no big deal. Lots of straight guys watch gay porn." 

“Did Asher tell you that? Because it's not true. And for the record, I could have gone my entire life without knowing that about him." 

"So not gay porn. Feminism? Flirting with that redheaded checkout girl at the Giant Eagle?"

"Did I not just tell you I don’t want to talk about it?”

“You did. I just didn’t listen.” The blonde swirls her drink with a straw, eyeing Laurel over the rim of the glass. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk about Frank, why am I here?”

“Can’t it just be that I like having drinks with you?”

Bonnie seems to consider this for a moment before shaking her head. “Not a chance,” she says, face breaking into an easy, genuine smile. “You want something. But that’s okay. I’ll get it out of you eventually.” 

—

Several hours later, Laurel’s pinned to the inside of Bonnie's front door, with slim hands pulling at her shirt so hard that two buttons pop off, bouncing across the marble tile before being swallowed up by the dark apartment. 

“Sorry. I get a little clumsy when I drink,” Bonnie mumbles between kisses, but she doesn’t sound a bit sorry and her hands are remarkably agile as she unbuckles Laurel’s belt. 

“You seem like you’re doing okay.”

“So was this your goal, or is it just another tactic?” Bonnie’s teeth nip at her neck and earlobe. 

“Does it matter?”

“Not at all, as long as I get to make you come.” 

It’s mild for dirty talk, but this is Bonnie. Icy, mean Bonnie (who isn’t either of those things, really) is slipping a thigh between Laurel’s legs like she’s done it plenty of times before. Laurel knows better than anyone that you shouldn’t underestimate the quiet ones, but she’s still pleasantly surprised at how aggressive Bonnie is as she yanks her jeans down.

Doing this probably makes her a terrible person. It definitely makes her the office slut (“or the teacher’s pet” her brain helpfully suggests), but then the blonde is on her knees, leaving smudges of red lipstick on her upper thigh, and Laurel fucking aches for it. 

She should feel bad, but all she feels is breathless. 

Bonnie's hands are roaming, grabbing her ass, pushing up her sweater to expose her waist so she can plant maddeningly suggestive kisses there. Laurel is praying she'll drift a few inches lower and put her mouth to better use when the blonde stops. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I’m just surprised.” Fingertips are gliding across Laurel’s stomach, tracing the indigo lettering that curves above her underwear. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

“You shouldn’t assume so much about me.”

“I think from now on I’ll assume nothing.” Lips press gently against her flesh near the uppermost part of the tattoo. “Do you want to tell me what it says?”

“It’s Latin.” Laurel doesn’t elaborate, and for once the blonde doesn’t push, instead focusing her attention on caressing her through the thin fabric of her underwear. Then fingers are hooked around the lacy waistband and Bonnie is looking up at Laurel, hesitating even though it's plain on her face that she’s starving for this.

“Still sure you want to do this?”

“Fuck, yes,” Laurel groans and then her panties are down around her knees and Bonnie’s mouth is on her. She's dripping wet (almost embarrassingly turned on considering how little of her body Bonnie has actually touched) but then three fingers are inside her and that incredible tongue is fluttering against her clit and all Laurel can think about is how badly she wants to come. 

She’s got two fistfuls of platinum blonde hair and her hips are bucking so violently that Bonnie uses her free hand to shove her back against the door. Her ass hits the knob hard. It should hurt, but Laurel's brain is drowning in endorphins and she's just so far from caring about anything other than how fantastic this feels.

She's ragged, desperate, writhing in every direction, pressing against Bonnie’s hand, moving against her mouth. She’s moaning so loud she’s sure the neighbors can hear her. She imagines Bonnie running into one of them in the morning and knowing that they know. Laurel can almost see the blonde blushing from her sweet pearls all the way up to her hairline, and the thought sends a tremor through her. 

She can feel the orgasm careening towards her and god knows a decent person would regret this the second after she gets off, but thank god Laurel's so far from decent right now, in every way.

She’s whimpering, it’s undignified, but she's fucking whimpering. Laurel’s not a woman to say please in bed, but before she can stop herself it's bursting out. She can tell by the way the blonde moans against her that the other woman likes hearing her beg, so she does, over and over again. Finally Bonnie decides to be merciful, and she zeroes in on Laurel's clit, dragging the flat of her tongue across it until the brunette cracks.

Laurel's entire body stiffens and she swears, the filthiest words she knows in both languages pouring out of her. Her body's jerking uncontrollably and she's pulling Bonnie's hair harder than is probably polite and then everything dissolves into static. 

The next thing Laurel knows, she’s laid out on the rug with Bonnie curled up next to her. She’s still got her shoes on, although her pants are around her knees and her thighs are a sticky mess. She glances over at the blonde, who is still fully clothed but flushed and breathing heavily. 

“That was awesome,” Laurel manages, and it’s so inadequate, but Bonnie’s face lights up just the same.

“No regrets?”

“God, no. You?”

“Just one.” Bonnie drapes an arm across Laurel’s abdomen and pulls her close. “I wish I spoke Spanish.” 

“I sometimes switch into it when I’m… yeah.” Laurel shrugs. “First the Latin tattoo, then the Spanish orgasm. Sorry I make it hard for you to understand me.” 

“You don’t need to apologize.” Bonnie’s hand moves down to skim across the words on her skin. 

Laurel hates that having Bonnie's tongue in her cunt was somehow less terrifyingly intimate than sharing this tiny piece of her history. Bonnie's not pushing for an explanation of the meaning of the tattoo, which means that she has to make the choice to offer it. Laurel takes her time, considering what she's prepared to share, before finally breaking the comfortable silence.

“It translates as—‘“

“‘Perfer et obdura, dolor hic tibi proderit olim’” Bonnie recites effortlessly. “‘Be patient and tough—“

“‘— someday this pain will be useful to you.’” Laurel finishes. “If you knew what it said, why did you ask?”

“I didn’t. I asked if you wanted to tell me.” She gives Laurel a quick kiss. “I understand you better than you think. Although there is still one thing that’s a total mystery.”

“What’s that?”

Bonnie’s eyes sparkle merrily as she feigns confusion. “Why the hell do you keep inviting me out for drinks?” 

Laurel hears the implication (and Bonnie’s not wrong), but she merely shrugs. “I guess you’ll just have to work a little harder, if you really want to get the truth out of me.”


End file.
